Darkest Desires
by Tuffts
Summary: Behind the sculpted windows and heavy doors of the Osborn mansion, a certain darkness lurks. Lost beyond the tribal masks and gothic decorum; blackness shatters every illusion, and lines are blurred. Norman/Harry Osborn Movieverse
1. Prologue

Warnings: Father/Son incest, slash, consent issues, graphic content, dark subject matter

Disclaimers: I do not own Spiderman or Harry and Norman Osborn. All copyrights to Spiderman belong to Marvel Comics and Stan Lee, maybe even Sam Rami.

Author's Note: I appreciate reviews and comments on my work.

Prologue:

He opened the door slightly, slowly entering the room. From here, he molded into the familiar darkness he'd grown used to.

A closed door, a silent whisper, pleading, begging, whimpering; somehow the darkness masked the velocity of these crimes. That was, if they were crimes.

He'd justified the sequence of events over and over in his mind; cold, cruel thoughts racing through a carefully calculated educated mind.

At first, the screams had been cutting- the harsh sounds breaking his much needed silence.

The stresses from his life weighed down unto he felt ready to scream himself, but he never did.

Emotions like tears were wasted upon the lifeless souls of the dead.

Sometimes he wondered where the living ended and the dead began.

Life was meant for wounds, blood, tears, and sweat.

He had achieved the life he had desired when he spent each night locked up in a cellar, left with only his dreams.

Dreams offered little comfort in the dark shivering blackness, but he'd taken immense satisfaction with the reactions after his dreams turned into reality.

He never looked back, steadily building his empire from the ground up. Marriage had been a wasted journey, until he was faced with the familiar loneliness he'd grown accustomed to all his life.

That brought him back to his son, a weak and helpless creature. His son reminded him of everything he despised in himself, shattering the cold exterior he'd worked so hard to create.

His son had destroyed him, and created him.

Now, as he stands over the body of his son, he smiles. He can make out the taut white flesh in the darkness. He can almost taste the fear surrounding his son.

This is the difference between life and death, darkness and light, and everything in between.

This, he tells himself, is why he lives.


	2. Fatherly Love

He can sense the intruder's presence, disturbing his personal space.

He smiles mockingly into the night, awaiting his victim.

He knows before he hears a single sound- Harry.

His son's voice fills the empty space, calling out for his father.

Harry's constantly holding out for Norman, even though Norman's abandoned him countless times before.

The cries are begging pleas lost amidst time and space, the sounds echoing off into the darkness he's created.

Harry's eyes search nervously in the blackened night, craving the affection he's been deprived of for all these years. The years melt into decades, Harry losing time and rationality.

He craves his father, needs him to validate these overwhelming feelings crashing upon him. Emotions pull at him, tugging with invisible strings.

Every time Norman's shoved him away with cold hands, Harry loses reason. That brief touch alone ignites desire; the coldness burns, flames engulfing bare skin.

Harry's questioned the relationship boundaries of father and son over and over, the lines shifting until they blur together as one.

After all, isn't fatherly love unrestricted by boundaries?

Norman can make out the shape of his son, mingling with the present darkness in his heart.

_Harry's upset, he's hurting. _

Norman's guilt surfaces, regretting every missed hour with his son.

Norman braces himself against banister, hands seeking refuge from every dark thought consuming his mind.

_I'm his father, I'm his father._

Norman forgets this silent mantra as he looks at his son.

_Tortured, hurt, begging, lonely- I could change that._

He welcomes Harry into his arms, embracing this unfamiliar individual he helped create. His son tightly closes his eyes, pressing his body against Norman. Both father and son bridge the gap they've created, patching each blemish and bruise.

Harry fights his emotions, shuddering from this sudden contact, every nerve rising to meet this welcomed, comforting touch.

He's forced from those protective arms to be held at a distance for Norman's inspecting eyes. Harry stays still, waiting for his father to reject him once again.

Rejection never surfaces, Norman watches his son in amazement.

How had he ever looked past such beauty? How had he ever deprived himself of this pleasure?

Harry's afraid that he'll wake up with a memory, a ghost replacing this embrace. He couldn't face a mere memory without this present reality.

Both father and son thirst for more of this forbidden touch. Norman pulls Harry back against his chest, savoring every contour of his body. Together they blur into one, much like the lines separating lovers from relations.

Norman meets black eyes clouded with conflicting emotions; Harry avoids his father's eyes, still recovering from that burning touch.

Norman can see the layers of hurt, the same hurt he's successfully driven back into the hellish parts of his own soul.

Harry desires everything he can and cannot give. Weak, needy, hungry- and tragically beautiful; Harry's white face contrasts with the framing dark fabric shielding his body from his father's inquiring eyes.

He's restrained himself for too long.

For the first time, Norman frees himself from these chains he's anchored himself to. Restraining shackles fall against bruised skin, Norman revealing his true feelings to Harry.

Harry's confused by this new warmth in his father's normally cold eyes.

Norman's revealing his hidden secrets to his son, the darkest desires rising to the surface, awaiting judgment.

Norman desires intimacy without boundaries, possessive uninhibited touches. Looking at Harry, he marvels at the strength he possesses.

_Have I been the weaker one all along?_

He can hear Harry's voice justifying his absences, always defending his father, even from himself.

_Such loyalty, such respect._

Harry can feel the strong hands stroking his back, relaxing him until Harry trusts him completely.

Norman gently pulls him closer, Harry watching his father with widened eyes. He can still sense his son's fear with every step backward he takes, leading Harry throughout this haunted labyrinth.

Together they pass doors, shut tightly from curiosity. Windows frame their secret world, Norman guiding his son to the familiar furniture.

Harry allows Norman to lead him, whimpering as his father lifts him unto the brocade couch. Harry remains motionless, bending to his father's slightest will. Norman watches his son intently; every movement sends Harry into his trap.

Like a cat playing with his prey, Norman positions Harry to his liking. The gentleness is gone, each touch burning with urgency. Harry whimpers as Norman lifts up his shirt, ignoring the questioning in his son's eyes.

Norman reveals alabaster skin with each shred of fabric. Harry's skin glittering against the contrasting furniture he lies upon.

Norman runs his hands curiously across Harry's chest, exploring each and every forgotten curve. Harry responds to his touches, offering his body to his father.

Norman can feel Harry's uncertainty reflected by the tension in his black eyes, he trusts his father, but he's still unsure of these emotions pressing against him.

Such smooth and wondrously corrupted flesh.

Norman massages his son, fingers spreading across virgin flesh, gradually moving lower until Norman's hands collide with Harry's belt.

Harry remains calm, surrendering himself to each of his father's touches. If he could, he'd suspend this moment forever, his father stroking his skin, spreading warmth with every motion.

Norman runs his hands over the cold steel thoughtfully before unbuckling the tip. Harry closes his eyes in fearful ecstasy as Norman slides the black fabric down his legs.

Norman smiles with every intake of breath from his son. Norman believes Harry's been craving this intimate dark pleasure for a while, satisfaction marking his features with this sinful thought.

Norman traces Harry's outline, gliding across dampened flesh. He marks his son with each possessive touch of his lips, saliva wet across his son's previously hidden delicate skin.

_So beautiful, so desirable- and mine._

Norman sweeps a finger inside his inner thighs, tracing the thickened muscle.

Harry's moans of incoherent pleasure send Norman over the edge, abandoning composure.

He couldn't stop now even if he wanted to- he needed it, they needed it.

Norman tastes Harry for the first time, sucking on his son's member greedily. Harry whimpers in torturous pleasure, every desire burning until Harry feels feverish.

Norman releases Harry's erect member from his mouth, feasting on his son's expression. Harry refuses to meet his eyes, still shameful of his reactions to his father's ministrations.

Looking at his son, Norman wonders how he ever neglected this stunning creature. He vows to never make the same mistake again.

He'll make up for certain inequities, heal the scars.

Norman alternates between gentle and firm touches, the inconsistency mirroring their own relationship after all these years.

He wants to know everything, touch every inch, learn every curve, imbedding each mental image of Harry positioned here for eternity.

Norman spreads Harry's legs apart, running a finger down until he reaches his tender anus. Norman grasps Harry's hands firmly in his before twisting a finger inside.

Harry cries out loudly, his screams lost on Norman's ears.

Harry's never experienced this pain before, each movement cutting, unforgiving.

Harry fights his father's restraining hands, Norman tightening his grip warningly; they've both taken the journey to hell together, it's too late to return.

Once lost, lost forever.

Norman twists another finger inside, pushing past tight muscle. Harry's face is marked with crystal tears as he cries out once more from this painful pressure inside of him.

Norman strokes Harry's lower back soothingly before joining a third finger with the others. Harry's body glistens with sweat, shuddering against the unfamiliar appendages.

Harry's cries turn into moans as Norman crooks his fingers inside. Norman shifts his position once more, sending Harry closer to orgasm than screams.

Norman abruptly withdraws, Harry's eyes closed tightly to block out the painful exit. Norman lifts him against his chest, muttering reassurances to soothe his bruised and trembling son.

Harry screams once more as Norman presses himself inside, his hands clawing against his father's back.

Norman quiets him, stroking Harry's abdominal muscles before drifting down to wrap one hand around his member to distract his son from the torturous pain. Harry surrenders to his own orgasm, crying out into the darkness.

Norman thrusts urgently inside his son, focusing on his own pleasure.

Harry's tears break the silence, shuddering as his father pumps harder into him. Norman joins Harry's cries with his own, climaxing forcefully.

He's never experienced this pleasure before, each articulate thought vanishing from his mind. For the first time, he's satisfied.

Norman slips out of Harry, gently placing him against the fabric once more. Norman touches his beautiful son, comforting the young man before abandoning him to complete restful darkness.

Harry sleeps peacefully, his father holding him, protecting him from harm.

Norman stays awake, lovingly holding Harry, wishing he could join his son in his peaceful relaxation.

He keeps holding unto his only connection with sanity, watching him through the shadows, contentment dancing across his features.

Norman forces his eyes shut, pressing his son tighter against him.

Somewhere in the blackened night, shadows blur, and lines are discarded.

**Authors Note: You'll get more if you review!**


	3. Remodeled Reflections

He slips away, never glancing over his shoulder

He slips away, never glancing over his shoulder. He's caused catastrophes before; he always slips away before he's caught. Yet- unlike business, he's invested.

Emotionally, physically, socially- he's already signed, condemning him eternally.

With work, life is uncomplicated. Standard rules, familiar practices, detachment. He signs the papers, closes the deals, shakes the hands, falsely smiles, furthers the company.

His job is clear, the rules his own.

He could never live those frivolous lifestyles younger men crave. Reckless inhibition flowing through their veins, inexperience reflecting in their eyes. Still, he envies them; desiring satisfaction, coveting youth.

Harry's young, reckless, foolish.

Is that what he seeks? To corrupt Harry before he lives the life Norman's dreamed of?

He scowls at the thought, angerly punching the elevator button.

No, surely not.

Afterall, where envy leads, guilt follows. He's never surrendered to guilt, nor does he intend to.

He exists, each sound reminding him of life. He pauses, allow himself the momentary rest to look out the window.

Remodeling. His company is remodeling.

From below he hears the shouting as workers lower supplies, stacking steel. The sounds join Norman's thoughts- mingling until they're one.

Norman watches the foundation forming, solid beams providing the necessary support for the structure.

He turns away, metaphors warning him.

Each breath, each step- a sign. He relinquishes himself into his reflections- a haunting smile forming across his pursed lips.

Where do these thoughts come from?

Twisted fingers clenching fabric, sweat drenched leather, flushed skin- delicious.

He shuts his eyes, desperately seeking that particular image; praying its not abandoned with the night.

Yes! He has it.

Flushed pale skin, fearful dark eyes, gasping open mouth- perfect.

He drifts back, setting foot on earth once more, opens his icy orbs of shattering crystal.

He realizes these crimes are horrid, permanent, blood stained pleasures- yet that does not stop him from licking, and savoring the blood on his hands.

Mmmmm...

He can't wait to come home.


End file.
